Don't
by Tawny The Disturbed
Summary: "Enlist or go to jail," they told Warren. Will was just following in his father's footsteps. No matter the reason or rank, these young men ended up in the same platoon, out on the hump through the foreign terrain of Vietnam. The second that Private Peace had met Sergeant Stronghold, he'd hated him. But it's not only war that changes a man. M for War, Injury, Drugs and Intimacy.
1. Don't Think

**Yeah, so this plot bunny nagged at me. Got the idea from a dream. **

**Just a quick little thing. Three chapters long. Never wrote a war or songfic before...just trying it on. **

**I apologize for limited postings. I find myself with little motivation to write fanfics. I must admit, I've been writing a novel. Timeline note cards and everything. My phone notes are fit to burst with ideas. I keep getting ideas and it's just flowing from my fingers. And to think it was a stupid little thing I started at the age of 12 hehe. It's a bit more adult like now...violent, some scandal, sexual. **

**Also I've had classes. This is my last semester before I transfer. Got a whole buncha shite to do. Then I'm directing a short play, not pro-bono. Then I'm also acting in a full length play, pro-bono. Secretary responsibilities. Getting snow-raped. ShitIgottaregisterforgraduation. MY GODS THE FRESHMEN ARE HORNY AND EVERYBODY WANTS THE T...**

**Yeah..._little _stressed...**

**Anyways, my knowledge of Vietnam is strong in certain places rather than all places. And the 60s and 70s are not my strongest. But ask me about anything during the reign of Alexander, the Viking Age or the 90s and I'll tell you all you want to know.**

** And I'll say now so that there's no butt-hurt that I am most certainly not a racist. Nor a gay-hater (that thought is preposterous since I'm super everybody-sexual). I'm just writing in the time where a lot of fools were racist, gay-hating cockwombles.**

**Please do enjoy my lovelies. Just because I'm getting older and bitterer...bitter-er...bittererer...doesn't mean that we can't have nice things...mehehehe**

* * *

The leaves of the native plants whipped at the sniper's fatigues, wet with water and mud. The wild branches and protruding roots tried to seize him, to slow him down and to trip him up. Still, he pushed on, holding tightly onto the burden upon his shoulders. The booms of explosions the calls of gunfire and the yells of men, friendly and unfriendly seemed to stay at his heels no matter how far he ran.

After the ambush had failed, the Company Commander had ordered all platoons to retreat. He didn't need telling twice as the fire, putrid with blood, gunpowder and napalm, rose over them. Despite his love for fire, Warren was fucking scared.

He'd had no problem turning tail and running after his fellows through the jungle, frantically slapping out the flames that had caught him in the right side.

So many of them had run off in different directions, no matter how many times Warren called for them to keep East. He could only hope that they'd make it to the trail by the river they'd been told to reconvene at for evac. His fear only grew when pain had exploded in his elbow when a bullet had found him. But still, he'd kept running.

_"Might as well enlist, Hothead," that fat-skulled fuck said…"War's gonna be over before you even get there," he said…_

There was nothing Warren wanted more now than the comfort and safety of a six by eight, complete with steel bunk, table, stool, sink and shitter.

_Don't think…just run._

The pyro's heart leapt to his throat when he spotted movement up ahead. Quickly, he ducked into a grouping of trees, concealing himself in the reaching leaves of the growth.

He knew that if he set down his load now, he'd never be able to pick him back up again. The idea of leaving the man behind was not even _remotely_ present in Warren's mind.

In favor of not puking, the pyro refrained from looked at his left elbow. He could feel blood trailing along his forearm from the gunshot wound. The entire joint was alive and burning with agony. If it started going numb, then he knew he'd have a problem. It was a horrible struggle to do his very best to endure it. He kept his left arm and hand hooked around his unconscious companion's leg and wrist to keep him on his shoulders.

Shaking and trying to pant quietly, the sniper got his rifle into his right hand and aimed carefully through the leaves, supporting the barrel on a leaning tree trunk. Through the smoke, less than a hundred yards away from his hiding spot, he saw two Congs emerge.

Their voices echoed in the momentary silence, obviously shaken, wounded…and ridiculously young. Trying to calm his breathing, the pyro swallowed and listened to their words, translating to himself while his finger moved over the trigger.

They were unarmed aside from a knife and what looked like a lonely bayonet. They were both bloody as hell, burned, limping and cradling bullet wounds.

"_I don't know. I thought I heard something. I'm scared._"

"_Don't be. Come on, I hear planes. They must have called in an airstrike. We have to keep moving, little brother._"

He didn't even need to sight them through the scope. They were getting closer…he could kill them both with one shot.

But he let them pass.

Gritting his teeth, he lowered his weapon. Being the best sniper in the entire division had nothing to do with the fact that he could have easily put a bullet through their brains one-handed. They'd been so close and completely unaware. And if the rifle wouldn't suffice, he had a loaded pistol strapped to his thigh.

_"They're still people," _the pyro remembered him saying. Glancing over his shoulder, he could just see the tip of his burden's bloody ear.

He knew that his father would've greased the two men without a second thought. He might have laughed while doing it. But that kind of mentality (or lack thereof) was why he'd been executed by a firing squad…Warren wasn't his father despite everything people thought about him no matter where he went.

_"Kill one, save the twenty that he'd kill." _They'd told him after completing sniper training. It had sounded logical enough. He didn't know where the number came from, but the idea made sense. Warren himself had probably killed more than that in less than a month.

He was just doing what he had to do.

_"They're just like us. We're _all_ just doing what we have to do."_

Moving his rifle quietly back to his side, trusting the strap it hung on, he bit back on a growl. _You people are always telling me shit…I was fine before I ever met you, Stronghold…_

As he gingerly made his way to his feet, he looked carefully around. The planes were indeed getting closer. He guessed that he probably had about five minutes to get the fuck out of the jungle and to the river. The pyro checked his compass and started running again, due East.

His boots pounded against the ground. Like drums. The vibrations of the planes closing in were the deathly winds. The booms of the explosions were the roaring chorus. The sound of the bullets cutting through the trees were the ungodly bells, calling out for him. It was a symphony of fear and death, threatening to consume all in its path.

Pain blazed through Warren's muscles. His lungs burned like they never had before. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He felt like prey to the predator that _was_ this land.

The sniper would admit to himself right then and there…he didn't want to die. He wanted to be home. Oh, how he longed to look upon the vastness of the mountains and smell the pine trees. He wanted to feel the coldness of winter. He yearned to hear his mother whispering to the wind.

They were all things that Warren had never thought of before. He never thought that he would miss things like that. Growing up, he'd complained often that there was nothing to do in their home in the mountains. He'd shivered and cursed the freezing cold of winter. He'd rolled his eyes when his mother had talked of the spirits.

All that had occupied his mind before was those who had wronged him, his anger and his hatred. That was what had gotten him arrested in the first place. As an…what did those assholes call him? As a "red-assed Injun" and a fugitive, you knock a couple of white boys unconscious and you tend to get hell poured down onto your head.

_"Enlist or go to jail." _

It had seemed like a no-brainer. People had been saying back home that the war would end any day now. But then Warren had jumped off of that chopper with his knapsack and rifle fresh from training. And just as quick as the blink of an eye, he realized that people back home didn't know jack shit.

The only thing that had made any of this less…horrible…was meeting Stronghold…

The guy had a kind and crooked smile. Brown hair that he was constantly pushing back off of his forehead. In his defense, haircuts were scarce while they were out on the hump. And he had these bright blue eyes…Warren had never seen such gentle eyes.

While he wasn't a very big man, he was deceptively strong…strong as a bull. He was the platoon's gunner, and he carried the machine gun on his back all by himself as if it weighed twenty pounds.

The second that the sniper had met him, he'd hated him. He was too happy…plus he was the son of that Company Commander…fucking Captain Stronghold, one of the guys who'd voted yes on Lieutenant Baron Battle's execution. The fact that Warren hadn't really had any relationship with his father was beside the point…you're supposed to dislike people who fuck with your family aren't you?

But despite Warren's display of disdain, little Sergeant Stronghold had always made it a point to sit with him and talk with him. The brawn's stupid jokes, his positive outlook on life and his ability to tell stories had grown on Warren.

Sergeant William T. Stronghold somehow had become the only real friend he'd ever had.

Relief spilled through him when he broke through the trees. The sun shined through the sparse, healthy white clouds. A light breeze brushed through the tall grass. The river flowed gently. Warren wondered for a moment at how bits and pieces of this land could be so beautiful and vast, while at the same time being so poisonous and cruel.

"Warren! Warren! Over here!"

Looking up the trail, the pyro saw the tall, blond, gangly idiot that was Stronghold's buddy from back home. Zach. The twit who always talked about how he missed catching the "glowbugs" back home with his kid sisters or something.

Gritting his teeth, the sniper hurried as best he could to the small group that sat on the edge of the trail, panting and mostly wounded.

"I need a field kit!" He called as he approached. The sniper watched as the giant's eyes widened, finally recognizing the patch on his burden's sleeve.

"Shit! Get a field kit! Medic! Ethan! Will's hurt!"

Warren sucked in a breath and sunk down to his knees, leaning forward to lay his friend down in the grass.

Glowbug tugged too quickly, making Stronghold's limp form brush across the pyro's surely ruined elbow. Yelling out, he pulled back, outright dropping the unconscious man, cradling his arm to his chest. The adrenaline was starting to lessen. The pain was slowly becoming more apparent. His muscles burned, his elbow was on fire with agony, and now suddenly he had the uncontrollable urge to puke his guts out.

The Private fumbled in his pocket for his lighter. He needed something to focus on and flicking the thing open and closed had always calmed him.

A young black man dropped down beside them, pushing his helmet up off his glasses. "Jesus, Will."

Warren turned, supporting himself on his right arm and vomited into the tall grass. His body felt wet with sweat, mud and his friend's blood.

"Warren, you okay?!" Glowbug cried out, grabbing at his shoulder.

The pyro shook him off, another wave of nausea spilling the lack of contents of his stomach. Black spots danced in his vision. Fuck, he felt light-headed.

"Zach, do _not_ let him pass out. Stone! Stone! Fucking Christ, Larry, get your ass over here! Keep pressure right here." The sniper heard Ethan instructing faintly.

"Hey, hey," The giant's shaky voice sounded near him. A steady hand cupped his forehead and another moved to support his chest. "Warren, Ethan says you gotta stay awake. We're gonna be okay, evac is two minutes out. Just stay awake."

"Stronghold," The pyro rasped, retching emptily again.

"Ethan's gonna take care of him. He'll make it. He's got to."

* * *

Will stared at his friend sleeping in the surely uncomfortable chair by his bed.

The brawn didn't know where he was, an American field hospital somewhere he was sure. Out of curtesy to his body, he hadn't moved upon waking. The misty pain from his chest to his right thigh, and the throbbing of a headache had been enough warning. He was experienced enough to recognize when pain meds were wearing off. So, he laid there quietly as the med ward still slept around him; just watching the sniper, and ignoring the awakening pain and his dry mouth.

The Sergeant studied the bandages heavily wrapping the man's left arm from bicep to forearm. His eyes moved along the sling that lashed it firmly against his body; and trailed along the bandaged wrapped and taped to his right side and arm.

A blanket was draped around his shoulders to ward off any chill that would come to assault the Private's half naked form.

_Damn…_

Oh, had all the platoons been hit impossibly hard.

He remembered running into the trees, shoved away from the front by his father. The brawn remembered seeing Warren tearing through the growth at a stunning speed ahead of him. There had been the sound of rapid fire, a tsunami of pain, the ground coming up at him and then nothing.

Swallowing hard, Will started to worry about whether people made it out alive or not.

"Will?"

Jumping slightly, Will turned his head and saw a redheaded nurse who looked damn familiar. "Layla?"

The woman smiled, coming over to his bedside, "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Shh," Will glanced at Warren to see if he'd awoken. The pyro remained still. He turned back to his old school mate and friend from back home. She looked a little tired, as if she'd just woken up. But her uniform was crisp and clean despite that possible fact.

"I thought you were against the war." The brawn whispered in disbelief to the flower child.

She grimaced, "Oh, I am. But after you left, I couldn't just sit around. I had to do what I could to help. Exercising my rights and saving lives and all that _groovy _stuff." She added a small smile to the end, reaching to adjust an IV tube that was wrapped around one of his arms.

"Do you know if my Dad made it out? Ethan? Zach? My squad? The rest of the platoon?" He asked, staring warily up at her for any negative signs.

"There you go like always, worrying about everyone else. Your Dad made it, and I treated Zach and Ethan yesterday for some minor burns and gas inhalation. A few of your men are in the next ward over. Most weren't wounded, and go shipped out. I heard there are still some MIAs…but they're um…presumed after Air Force naped the area you were in."

The brawn closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. He lifted his left hand up from the blankets and scrubbed at his face. Grimacing, he looked at his wrist and found a ring of dark, finger-shaped bruises.

"Got any idea what happened to me?" Will finally asked, wincing as his fingertips brushed a bandage around his head.

Those knowing green eyes moved down the bed, frowning at the frailness of her friend. He'd always been strong and confident, and now here he was weak and vulnerable. She had never wanted this kind of life for him, but she hadn't been able to convince him to escape the draft. He'd been a shoo-in for a college degree and had the money to do it, but he'd refused and enlisted before the draft found him.

Stubborn as always to prove himself to his father, his mother and those around him…even though he didn't have to.

"Well, you sustained some rapid fire gunshot wounds from your chest to your thigh. Six bullets." She reached forward and pointed out small, rusty red stains on his bandaged chest. "The first one just missed your lung. The next two cracked some ribs. This one tore up your kidney. The next one got your pelvic bone. And the last one hit an artery next to your femur bone. I guess when you went down, you hit your head on a rock."

Will frowned, "I'll take some more of that morphine stuff, please. I don't think I wanna know how much that all really hurts…how the hell am I still alive, Lay?"

The redhead looked up from the syringe she'd been filling to administer to his IV drip. She didn't think that he'd been looking for a real answer on that last part. The brawn had laid his head back heavily into his pillows, and had spoken in bewilderment to the ceiling.

She glanced over at the wounded sniper, sleeping in the chair on the other side of his bed. "Him."

Will looked at her in confusion, "What?"

"I'm answering your question, Will," she said, slowly injecting the numbing agent into his blood stream. "You're alive because of Private Peace, there."

She watched those blue eyes turn onto the man beside him. They were soft and inquisitive. Admiring. Adulating.

She'd seen that look on him a few times before.

When they were kids, he'd looked upon his father as a hero. When they were just barely teenagers, he'd looked upon Gwen Grayson, his first crush with dopey eyes like that. And a few times he'd looked at Layla herself like that.

She smiled warmly, feeling slightly jealous. It had been close to a year since she'd last seen him. So of course, he'd find other people to like, to lo…

"I guess he went back for you. Ethan said that his belt was tied around your leg to staunch the bleeding, and your wounds were already salted. He slung you over his shoulder and carried you to safety." She looked over at the sleeping man. While she might not be the object of the Sergeant's affections anymore, she was glad that he'd kept him alive.

This rude, abrasive man with copper skin and black hair had kept Will alive. Any frustration she'd felt the previous day over his refusal to leave the comatose brawn's side faded away. Layla knew well that you protect what you hold dear.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Will asked drowsily, feeling the effects of the medicine creeping through his body.

"He's got some bad burns on his right side and his arm. The surgeon put his elbow back together as best he could. He's a sniper, right?" After the brawn nodded, she shook her head, "I'm not sure if he'll be cleared for active duty with that injury. He'll probably have limited use of his left arm now. He might be going home…you too."

Will's blue eyes fluttered closed. Any other time he'd protest that statement red-faced. But Layla had doped him up well enough to put him back into sleep's embrace. He supposed he should be grateful. Being here meant that it wasn't necessary to feel pain to know you were still alive. It wasn't his first gunshot wound, so he knew the drill.

He just hoped that when he woke up next, the pyro would still be there.

* * *

The brawn awoke the next day to see the chair beside him vacant. When he'd asked Layla where his friend was, she'd told him that he was being seen by the doctor. She'd also told him that they'd be shipped out to a more secure hospital tomorrow morning to make room for another wave of injured. Promptly, he was then fed, and drugged again, sending him deep into unconsciousness.

However, he found himself awake again that evening. The chair beside his bed was most certainly not vacant. The pyro was reasonably covered with the blanket this time, and very much awake.

Those dark chocolate eyes had watched warily as Will came around.

"Hey, War." The Sergeant rasped.

Scooting closer, Warren picked up a cup of water in his right hand and carefully held it to his lips. Gratefully, Will drank deeply, and let his head sink back into the pillows when he was done.

"You okay?" he asked the pyro, noticing the man fiddling with his lighter the way he did when he was nervous or bored.

Shaking his head, the Private finally spoke, "You need to stop worrying about everyone else and mind your own damn business."

The brawn smiled, happy to see that his friend was his normal self. "Oh, a man after my own heart." Warren looked away for a long moment after that, letting silence descend on the two of them.

Will wondered if he'd toed the line a little too much this time with those cheeky words. That line had been a little…faded between them the past few weeks. It hadn't been an odd occurrence to find their arms brushing one another as they'd walked out on the hump. Late at night when one of them was on watch, the other would make an effort to be near, even touching or leaning. One time, Warren had even let the brawn trace the fire tattoos on his forearms. Yeah, casual touching had become a little…more than casual.

They'd never said anything about it, or joked about it. You couldn't acknowledge things like that…

Even if things like that had once escalated to their being so close together one night that their noses almost touched and they could feel, almost _taste_ their breath on one another's lips. It could've been a platonic demonstration…because Warren _had_ been talking about a time he'd fucked a very rude but secretly shy girl in a village off the Mekong…her name was Magenta or something.

That wasn't their most unrighteous moment either…So, yeah…their companionable habits were a bit more than…just companionable.

"Tell me how you feel." Warren said quietly, jerking Will back to the present.

"I uh…well…the drugs they've got in me…I'm not exactly in pain…it's a little hazy." Will replied, glancing down at his covered chest.

Nodding silently, the pyro finally looked back up into the Sergeant's eyes.

Warren took in the deer in the headlights expression on the brawn's face. He'd seen it once before.

They'd been in a bar in Saigon. He'd managed to convince Will to drink with him. And hours later, the two of them had been pretty damn intoxicated…so the memories were a little frayed. At one point during what he'd thought had been a pleasant evening, they'd had gotten into an argument. It had been about the sniper's "vices" or something. He remembered tripping out the door into a cramped alleyway outside. Vaguely, he recalled the affronted, drunken look on Will's face as the two hissed and growled at each other.

The Private couldn't really remember the entirety of the conversation. He figured it was about how he needed to stop wasting his money on whores or something.

The pyro liked sex. He liked it most when it was happening to him. Before then, the Sergeant had looked the other way when Warren had made use of the rubbers that the army issued them. So, he hadn't really understood that night why it was all of a sudden such a big deal.

But then, he thought at least, the arguing had moved to _"Why can't you use your skills to be all that you can really be? There's so much to you, and you could make the world see that easily if you tried. You don't need all that shit in there…I want…why can't you see what's right in front of you?"_

That was where the deer in the headlight's expression happened. The sniper almost chuckled, thinking of the involuntary gasp the man had let out after those words slurred from his mouth. While most of that night was a fragmented, drunken daze, the Private remembered the debauched look on Will's face. The look had been the result of Warren grabbing a handful of the man's crotch.

_"Is this what you want?"_

He swore to himself that his 'superior' officer had let out a little moan and reached for him. But at the last second, he pushed away and stumbled off.

The two of them were sober now…well, mostly sober. But pain meds didn't or at least shouldn't count as much as being piss-wasted. If the brawn brushed him off again tonight like he'd done outside that bar in Saigon, Warren told himself that he wouldn't ever touch him again.

So, he moved the chair even closer, knees resting against the side of the bed.

"I'm…glad you're alive." He murmured, unconsciously cradling his injured arm against his chest.

Will smiled gently, "I'm only alive because of you. Thanks for pulling me out of there." The brawn watched his friend, trying not to think too much. Thinking was always the thing that stopped him. Quick action was what had kept him alive in the field.

The pyro placed his hand over Will's.

The Sergeant felt like his stomach did a back-flip.

Leaning closer, Warren rested his forehead against the edge of the brawn's. His hand snaked under the blankets. When the warm fingers brushed under his waistband, Will sucked in a breath. He glanced around the dark ward fearfully, trying to see if anyone was awake.

His mind yelled at him to tell the Private that this wasn't a good idea, here and now. If someone were to wake up or come in…they'd be caught. However, his ideas of protest left him swiftly as the pyro squeezed and stroked his cock.

"Warren…" He breathed, his heart beating wildly against his ribs.

"Shh…"

Pressing his lips together to stifle himself, Will leaned back against Warren's face. _Don't think, don't think…don't think._


	2. Don't Stop

**Yeah, I was on a roll but decided that I was too tired to finish the last part so you'll get another chapter. Three chapters, but that's it! **

**I also changed the title last minute to what I had it as originally.**

**This isn't important but I forgot to mention that I got the idea for this shite in a dream. Or in the shower. One of those two...I can't fecking remember. The two acts are basically the same thing for me these days anyways...**

**Meh. Here, have porn.**

**Love and limbs!**

* * *

"You're probably the only grown man I know who doesn't smoke." Warren grumbled, digging into his pocket for his lighter. Will watched as the pyro less than subtly put it in his right hand to light a cig.

The last three months had been a shuffle of transfers from one medical base to another, to make room for the wounded newcomers. They'd found themselves performing some menial duties as best they could while they waited for their medical discharge papers to come through in the American base in Saigon, close to the Embassy. That of course was after being shipped from Chu Chi, to Japan, and back. The Sergeant had sustained more than one earful of the pyro's rants about being jerked around.

Will had had to pull a few strings to keep Warren with him wherever one or the other was shipped. Which he carefully did not tell the pyro. Sure, he hated asking his father for favors, but he wasn't above pushing a few bribes here and there to the lower downs that could use the cash. After all, war's a game for rich men, not poor men.

Now, they were finally back in the states. And they were sitting in a police car in San Francisco, California at about half past nine at night after getting mobbed by protestors of war in the airport.

Not the kind of protestors that Will had feared actually...

No one had called them baby-killers, or any other nasty names. No one had spat, shoved or tried to hurt them. On the contrary, no.

This crowd had welcomed him, the Private and the six other soldiers hitching a ride home. Some of the protestors were former soldiers themselves. They held signs that said things like "Welcome home", "War is Hell", "No more dead/hurt soldiers", "Bring them home", and the one that really spoke to Will was "We know".

The others were your typical flower children, just without the war bristles. They'd reached out to pat their backs, welcome them home, and wished them safe travels. They'd offered them smokes, beer, water, clove gum, clean t-shirts, cola, flowers and weed.

The ganja, the beer and the smokes? Warren gladly took those, not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Having Layla as a best friend had usually kept Will in steady supply of tie-dyed shirts, but he still accepted one, along with a bottle of soda.

The cop that had offered them a ride put the car in park, "You sure you gentlemen don't need anything?"

Warren was already out the door, clearly uncomfortable about being in the back of a cop car. Will shook his head from where he sat up front, digging into his pocket to try and find some money or something to pay the nice man back. "No, Sir, we're just gonna get a room tonight and then catch our bus in the morning."

When he finally found a few bills, the man shook his head, tugging at his cap a little. "Keep your money, boy. Go get some sleep. God bless."

The Sergeant smiled and nodded, "Thanks again for the ride." He climbed out of the vehicle and took his bags from the trunk. The sun was nearly set, painting the sky and its clouds into a canvas of fading reds. And damn if that sun didn't look great as it faded into the water. There was still a massive amount of people on the beach, and music was calling from somewhere. Not a bad night.

He waved, looking away from the headlights as the police car backed up and left the motel parking lot. When he turned, the sniper was glaring around the place.

Will frowned, "What's wrong, War?"

He shook his head, "Awful lot of cars. We might not even get a room."

The brawn chuckled, "Well, it's not like we haven't slept outside before. C'mon, let's go in and ask the clerk. If there aren't any rooms, we'll just have to find some other place to bunk down." He glanced up at the sign, "Mrs. Powers' Place. Sounds friendly enough. And look, there's a bar," he pointed out the neon signs in the far windows, "oh and a pool. Groovy."

"Stop saying that."

"Don't step on my vibes, man." Will crooned, and then burst out laughing.

Warren growled in his throat, annoyed at their predicament. He was careful as they went inside, tucking his elbow in so as not to bump it on the doorway or any offending surfaces.

"Oh, shut up. It serves us right anyways, thinking that we could come home in midsummer…in California." Will smirked, easily making light of the situation.

Warren still frowned, watching as the shorter man limped over to the counter to talk to the desk clerk. He'd warily watched his friend recover slowly over the past couple of months. The sniper knew that the brawn moved stiffly on his right side, and limped when his leg hurt enough. He'd help him silently, picking things up when he couldn't bend, carrying things for him sometimes when he couldn't take it.

The Private kept a careful eye on him, knowing that he'd from suffer migraines, dizziness and occasionally even forget what he was doing.

The Sergeant would shrug those moments off, smile and say he was fine. Warren knew better, but kept quiet about it most of the time, allowing the man his dignity.

Will had been doing much of the same thing. He knew that the sniper was also stiff on the right side at times because of the burns. And after ditching the sling, whenever the Private went to bend his left arm, he'd lead with his shoulder to get it up. Even then, it didn't even bend all the way. Aside from bone, nerves and muscles had been damaged, so it also limited the use of his left hand. The sniper was fighting it the whole way, trying to make it work again.

Warren had used both hands just about equally before his injury, so Will knew that his friend was really feeling the handicap.

"You boys fresh off the plane?" The clerk asked, an older but still very pretty woman with neat black hair. She took off her reading glasses and set down a book.

"Yes, Ma'am, we are." Will smiled, setting down his rucksack

She smiled gently, replacing the reading glasses and sliding an open pad over to her, "Well, welcome home. The President's started withdrawals finally, so I guess I'll be seeing a lot more soldiers around here."

"Thank you very much, and I guess you will. Mrs. Powers, right?" When the woman nodded, he continued, "I uh, we saw that your lot is pretty packed. I was wondering, do you have any rooms available? We'll take anything. It's been a long flight." He tried not to be nosy as she flipped through what looked like her logs.

The clerk tittered a little, "I figured as much. We are a little busy. There's a surfing competition and a concert going on down on the beach this weekend. But you got lucky, son. A room just opened up. Some of my customers decided to move into a room together. Four in a bed seems a little crowded for my taste, but that's not my business."

Will chuckled, liking the woman and her dry humor. "That sounds great. We'll take it if that's okay."

"It's alright with me," She shrugged, jotting some things down, "Thing is there's only one bed."

Will glanced back at Warren. The sniper hadn't really been paying attention until she said that. He shrugged, scratching his thumbnail over his rucksack strap.

"I suppose we can manage." The Sergeant turned back to Mrs. Powers. He gave her their names, paid her and accepted the room key.

As they went up the stairs, the brawn glanced back at the pyro. "I can sleep on the floor and you can have the bed if you like."

Warren rolled his eyes, giving the shorter man a nudge as they reached the top. He pretended not to see Will's hand reaching down to rub lightly at his thigh. "No one's sleeping on the floor. You were practically drooling all over my shoulder a few hours ago on the plane anyway. Just share the blanket and we'll be fine."

The Sergeant hid his blush as he fit the key into the proper door and unlocked it.

The room was okay. Everything was wood paneled, striped and tan. The carpet was a little worn. The bed was made, and the room smelled of air freshener to combat the lingering scent of weed, Will supposed.

The couch looked new. The armchair was old and had a rip in one armrest, but otherwise looked comfortable enough. There was a table with a couple of chairs in the corner by the bathroom door. A radio and a television sat on top of a long cupboard opposite the bed.

"Not bad." Will smiled, tossing his rucksack down beside the wall and flopping down on the bed, and regretted it as a little pain in his side from where his kidney used to be.

He heard the door close as the Private stepped in behind him.

"You just hurt yourself, didn't you, you idiot?"

The brawn rolled over onto his back and chuckled, "Only a little. It doesn't hurt as much as it used to."

Warren shook his head, and set down his things. He locked the door, muttering about "drunkards" and "potheads" stumbling around later in the evening trying to find their beds.

Ironically, Will watched him take out a beer that the protestors had given him and went to pop it open with his left hand. He flexed his fingers stubbornly, and managed to open it for a swig. Well, more than a swig, he actually drank heartily as he walked over to the bathroom to look in. When the can was maybe half empty, the pyro finally lowered it and wipe his mouth with a little burp. "I think I'm gonna take a shower."

Quickly, Will sat up, ignoring the light twinge in his side, "Hey, you mind if I take one first?"

Warren paused and glanced at the brawn. "Uh, I guess not…"

Dragging his own bag over to him, the Sergeant dug into it for what he had left of his standard toiletries. "Sorry, but I know you and hot water. I'd like to have a little before you use it all." He smiled impishly at the pyro and got a scowl in return.

Still, he only laughed as he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

After peeling off his clothes, he stepped under the spray to wash quickly. He took care with the soft pink flesh of his scars and leaned his weight gratefully against the shower wall to rest his leg. A few minutes later, he heard Warren's voice through the still open door. "Well, they're still playing I Love Lucy!"

Snorting, Will called back, "Figures!" Then he swore and tipped his head back to get soap out of his eye.

He only took a few more minutes and then turned off the water. Now he could clearly hear Ricky scolding Lucy over something. "All yours!" He called, climbing out and ruffling a towel over his head.

The TV switched off and music started to play from the radio. "Good. I'm not sure how much more I could take of that shit." The sniper grunted, coming into the bathroom as Will wrapped the towel around his waist.

Warren was already out of the top half of his uniform, mockingly calling out, "'You got some 'splainin to do!'" He went around the Sergeant where he stood in front of the mirror with his shaving kit and small medical kit.

"You alright?" The pyro asked as he undid his belt.

Nodding, Will smiled, and brushed a wet lock of hair out of his eye, "I got my hot water. I'm all set."

Scoffing, the Private stripped off his pants, turned the shower back on and climbed in.

Will certainly did _not_ look at his ass before he pulled the curtain closed. Well…yeah, he did…

They talked a little as Warren relaxed under scalding hot water and the brawn shaved. Having the door open kept the mirror clear. The Sergeant brushed back his damp hair, and then got to work applying ointment to his stiff, red scars.

The shower turned off, and the curtain went back. Will ignored the pyro in favor of turning to see his back in the mirror. Caring for the exit wound high on his back was always a bitch. He looked away from the reflection and picked up the ointment tin.

"Here," Warren said, all of a sudden in his space with a towel also around his waist, taking the tin from him.

"Warren, I got,"

"Shut up," The pyro grunted. Will reluctantly allowed himself to be turned. He stared into the mirror stubbornly. But he relaxed as his friend applied the salve. His touch was surprisingly gentle for such a rough man.

There was a faint clamoring in the hall outside their room as some people seemed to leave theirs. It was loud enough to be heard over the radio that was playing some new hits. The sudden noise had made both of the discharged soldiers jump. While Warren had gone back to what he was doing, it distracted Will for a few moments. He couldn't really hear what they were saying, something about running late.

He supposed it was about that concert or something that Mrs. Powers had mentioned. The brawn wondered what kind of music was playing, hoping that when he decided to go to bed, it wouldn't keep him up. He pretty tired from all of the traveling despite having slept for an hour or two on the flight.

_What do they call it? Jet lag? Oh…_

The Sergeant paused in his thoughts as the voices outside faded away…and the feeling of his friend's touch came into focus.

His fingers were less greasy and were traveling down his spine. His callouses were rough, but it was anything other than unpleasant. Will swallowed hard, looking to Warren's face in the mirror. The dark chocolate eyes did not meet his. They were turned down, studying the brawn's back. He hadn't had a haircut for months, so it was much longer and darker than his own. It hung down and clung to his neck and face in places, still dripping.

For a moment, Will habitually felt worry at being caught creep up into his heart. But wait…

_We're alone…_

Will closed his eyes as the sniper's hands trailed up his flanks. He could feel his hot breath against his shoulder.

Warren's warm touch moved around to the front, trapping the Sergeant in a gentle embrace. One hand glided up, caressing the muscles it found. The other, the left, snuck down, and very slowly folded around his towel-covered, half-hard prick.

Will tilted his head back against his friend's shoulder and breathed a sigh, his lips slightly parted. The Private leaned in and nuzzled at the nape of his neck, trailing his lips up the side of his throat. His mouth moved to worry at the smoothly shaven skin beneath the brawn's jaw.

It was new…it was nice…and Will didn't want it to stop. And it didn't have to…because they were completely _alone_.

This was the most alone that they had ever been. This was basically _their_ room, bought and paid for, for the night. The door was locked. No one was going to walk in. It was their space _only_. Perhaps that fact is what made Will blurt out, "I want to do it."

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he blushed a deep, deep red.

Warren paused in his ministrations, and studied his friend's face in the mirror. The farthest the two of them had ever managed to go was a rushed, mutual hand job. The chances of being caught had been thrilling for himself, but the Sergeant had always been terrified and half-reluctant.

They'd never even kissed, too busy watching for anyone who'd discover them. Hell, they'd never even verbally acknowledged anything to do with their more-than-normal companionship.

The pyro was surprised that the brawn had even said it out loud. He was such a clean-cut, straight-shooting kind of guy. Eager to impress, and stay within the lines. The man had signed up for the army the moment he'd been handed his high school diploma. He'd risen in the ranks on his own merit and was already a Sergeant by the age of twenty-two.

Warren was a year older, and had tried his damn best to stay in the smokescreens of paperwork and bullshit to avoid the draft for a while. Hell, he'd even skipped town to do so. Sure the army had eventually caught up with him, and that was only because of that stupid bar fight where the chubby moron and his spindly friend had pissed him off in just the right way.

"I-I, um," Will stammered, still blushing red. The pyro smirked, and slowly turned him around. Their near nakedness was very obvious now that their groins were pressed together, separated by only a couple of towels.

Leaning closer, Warren murmured, "Do you?" The pyro didn't exactly know what to say. They never spoke when it came to moments like these. Now that they were, and the implications of what the brawn had said could be great, he wanted to be sure it was what his friend wanted.

Will wet his lips and breathed, "Y-yeah. I do."

The sniper knew that you couldn't exactly just jump right into fucking; especially with men; especially men who probably have never done 'it' before. So he leaned closer, and slanted his mouth over the brawn's.

His lips were moist and soft, but they seemed move against his rather than with. It made it sloppy. It was like he was fighting the sniper's lead. Impatiently, the Private cupped the man's face and tilted his head back a bit. Then he pulled away from the kiss slightly, just out of reach. The brawn grasped at Warren's shoulders, breathing out a noise of protest.

Slowly, the pyro leaned in as if to kiss him but deliberately pulled back when Will leaned in as well.

"Warren," He whispered, confused and frustrated.

His friend moved in again, just barely brushing his tongue against his lower lip. A shudder moved down the Sergeant's spine. The sniper's left hand moved down and around to the small of his back. His right wrapped around the back of his neck. Warren kissed him deeply then, tongue delving deep into his now compliant mouth. A quiet moan caught up in his throat and turned into a cry when the Private's hips ground down against his. Firmly, his arms looped around the sniper's neck.

The brawn had never been kissed like this before. He hadn't done much kissing come to think of it. Just a few girls he went to high school with. Gwen, Layla and a few others. He once kissed Zach, but they'd been five years old and they sure as hell never spoke of that again.

The pyro's teeth set to his lower lip, dragging gently and letting go. Brushing his nose against his, Warren suddenly gave their towels a yank.

And he had the gall to smirk at the yelp of surprise Will elicited.

The sniper dropped the Sergeant's towel to the floor, and draped his own towel over his head to ruffle his still dripping hair.

Snorting, the brawn reached to dry Warren's hair for him, "You're an ass."

After a moment, Warren emerged, hair less damp. He smirked, "Takes one to know one," then he took him by the waist and pulled him close, "C'mere."

He outright attacked Will's mouth then. Will had most _certainly_ never kissed like this before. In the scuffle of teeth and tongues, the brawn felt himself being tugged out of the bathroom. His breath left him when Warren gave him a good shove.

For a split second, the sensation of falling got to his head. When he plopped down on the bed, he saw stars. Warren was crawling atop him within seconds, but he froze when he saw the dazed look in his friend's eyes. Worried, he touched Will's cheek, "You okay, Stronghold?"

It took a moment, but the Sergeant responded, "Yeah. I just, I got um…a little dizzy."

Frowning, the pyro rolled off of the brawn and onto his side. He combed his fingers comfortingly back through Will's hair. "Do you need some water?"

Shaking his head, the Sergeant looked to his friend, "No. I just needed a minute." He rolled onto his side, reaching for him, "Please don't stop."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Warren, if you don't get back to kissing me, I will beat you."

Laughing, the sniper got up and nestled himself between the brawn's legs. "That an order Sarge?"

With a smile that masked his nervousness, he replied, "Might just be."

So, get back to kissing he did. Still it was a whirlwind to Will's senses. He grasped at any inch of the pyro he could reach, and moaned in delight at the brushing of Warren's cock against his. This was newest moment of the bunch. Any one of those sorts of private mutual hand jobs had kept them fully clothed…sans opening up the front of their pants.

Then those lecherous lips were moving downward. They trailed down his throat, and lapped at the hollow at the base. His tongue glided down to the middle of his chest. The brawn's breathing hitched and he whimpered when Warren bit at a nipple and thrust his hips against his.

After administering the same attention to the other side, that warm mouth continued its journey downward. And it got so close to his cock that he thought he might burst. He'd heard plenty of vulgar talk about getting blown, some of it from Warren himself. Will imagined those skilled laps wrapped around his prick.

Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

Letting his head fall back heavily, he moaned, thrusting into the Private's touch when his hand wrapped around him. "You still want to do it?" He heard his friend ask.

That made him pause, suddenly nervous again. "Y-yeah…but, I've uh, I've…I've never," Before he could continue, the sniper hushed the brawn, nipping at his navel. He kissed his way up his tensed abs and back up to his throat. One set of fingers closed back around Will's erection, dragging a cry from him as they stroked up and down, taking care to rub thoroughly at the crown.

Then the Sergeant found that his hand was being guided to own prick.

"Keep this up, but don't come."

Will watched as the Private got off the bed and went through his rucksack. After a moment, he came back and settled between the brawn's legs again, with a tin of Vaseline. He pulled off the top and dipped his fingers in it. "This might hurt, Stronghold."

Yeah, he'd said he wanted to do it…but now that it was actually about to happen, he wasn't so sure… The Sergeant had heard what queers do. And the idea of it…

Swallowing nervously, his stroking hand stilled and he asked, "How bad will it hurt?"

Warren paused and looked directly into Will's eyes. They were so blue…and frightened.

He had seen this man willingly sprint across a field littered with land mines and gas while being shot at with rapid fire to clear out a concrete watch hole full of Charlie in the side of a hill and save his pinned down comrades…And he was afraid of sex?

It was ador…well, interesting.

The sniper leaned and deeply kissed his friend, dipping his tongue into his mouth to wrestle with his for a long moment. When the brawn moaned in his throat, the Private pulled away a little to look him in the eyes again. He combed his clean hand back through Will's hair.

"We don't have to do it," He ran his tongue over the man's lip, "We could,"

"No!" Will exclaimed, "I mean, no. I want this. I want _you_." Grasping at Warren's flanks, he pulled his…_lover_ closer. "I want you to…to um,"

The pyro smiled, and put the man's hand back on his cock to resume its stroking. "It won't hurt bad, as long as you stay relaxed. Just breathe."

Swallowing hard, Will took in a deep and calming breath. He tensed for a moment when Warren began to caress his inner thigh. He found himself relaxing under the gentle touch. And that was all that the pyro did for a while. His palm slid across his sensitive skin to massage his balls next. Oh, it felt…very good. The touch moved to the other leg, and just rubbed any tenseness from it.

Will kept stroking himself, slowly to match the docile touch of his lover.

The Private trailed his touch down under his balls, the untouched skin so damn sensitive that it made the brawn buck with a gasp. And then he felt the rough pad of a fingertip settle slickly against his hole.

Well, _that_ made him jump.

"Shh, it's alright." Warren murmured, circling Will's entrance. "Stay relaxed."

The Sergeant laid back, and closed his eyes, listening to the radio. There was a man's voice talking about the concert happening down on the beach that evening. Jefferson Airplane. Right after a commercial break, apparently they were going to play some of their music.

The pyro's finger had managed to slide all the way in by the time the commercial started. It wasn't all that difficult to accept the intrusion. The breathing did help. And the feeling of the digit moving in and out along the walls of his insides wasn't too unpleasant.

He breathed his way through the next two fingers, doing his best to ignore the burn by paying attention to the radio and tugging at his erection. Warren seemed to be making an effort as well because all of a sudden his fingers pressed on a bundle of nerves that made spots dance in front of his eyes.

"Oh!"

The Private smiled, "Couldn't let you think you weren't gonna get anything out of it."

And the cheeky bastard did it again, and again, and again.

Will had to clutch hard at the base of his cock to keep from coming. "Warren! Oh fuck, stop!"

The son of a bitch couldn't resist doing it one more time. Crying out, the brawn gripped himself to the point of pain to stave off orgasm. The other hand grabbed his lover's wrist and wearily panted, "Please, stop."

Warren slowly withdrew his fingers and went back to caressing the Sergeant's inner thighs. He had to allow Will to pull himself back from the edge otherwise this would be over way too soon. And he'd barely gotten started.

As his lover calmed down, Warren reached off of the bed and came back up with a square foil. After another long moment of gentle touching, the pyro tore it open with his teeth. The brawn watched him roll on the military issued rubber. His breath caught up in his throat when the sniper kissed him hard, teeth snagging on his lip and tongue wrestling with his.

"You okay, now?" He said after sucking on his top lip.

The brawn nodded, brushing back Warren's hair.

"Pull your legs up," Warren breathed against Will's blushing face. Panting in delirium, the Sergeant swiftly obliged, eager for more. But he winced, hissing at the pain in his right thigh. Almost immediately, the sniper pressed his lover's right leg back down to the mattress and guided him onto his side to keep him comfortable.

The sound of the radio came into focus.

_When the garden flowers_

_Baby, are dead, yes!_

The brawn grunted as the Private hitched his left leg higher so it was over his shoulder. Taking a calming breath, Warren reached down between them, "Just keep breathing."

_And your mind, your mind_

_Is so full of red!_

A moment later, Will felt the pressure of his cock, hot and slick against his entrance. Swallowing again, he struggled to keep his eyes open. He focused on Warren's face, his dark brown eyes and the bead of sweat that rolled down his temple. The Sergeant let out a gasp as his lover's cock slid in, moving past the tight ring of muscle with the easement of the grease.

_Don't you want somebody to love?_

His body quivered, and the pyro cupped his fact gentle with a warm palm, "You gotta breathe, Stronghold."

_Don't you need somebody to love?_

Once prompted, the brawn sucked in a breath and bit at his lip in discomfort. It burned. It hurt. It was uncomfortable. But he'd taken bullets! He should be able to take this just fine.

_Wouldn't you love somebody to love?_

"Breathe," Warren murmured, gently kissing at his lover's cheek, letting him adjust to the intrusion and breathe. His lips moved down to mouth at his throat, and he listened to the deep, careful breaths Will took. He glanced down and watched as the Sergeant distracted himself with long pulls at his cock.

_You better find somebody to love!_

As things seemed to calm, Warren pressed his hips closer to Will's. There was a whimper from his parted lips, and a hand quickly came up to press against the sniper's chest. "Wait, wait,"

The pyro stilled, wary gaze fixed upon his friend, his lover.

_Your eyes can see,_

_Your eyes may look like his!_

His eyes were closed, screwed slightly around the corners. And his lower lip was caught between his teeth. Warren listened as the brawn tried to breathe evenly.

He could feel each slight flutter, each moment of tenseness and release around him. It was so hot and tight, he wanted to drive in hard and take. But this was his Stronghold. For one, the man was not used to being used and taken like a Saigon whore. For two, he deserved good and sweet things…

_Yeah, but in your head, baby_

_I'm afraid you don't know where it is!_

The pyro leaned down, brushing his nose against Will's, "You okay? We don't have to do this."

For a moment, Will focused on the pain and discomfort he was experiencing. He was tempted to cry Uncle, throw in the towel and end it there. But…too much thinking.

_Don't you want somebody to love?_

"Don't stop," he shook his head, looping an arm around the sniper's neck. "I want this. Don't stop." He slid his left leg down around the sniper's waist.

_Don't you need somebody to love?_

He rolled slightly so that he was on his back and carefully lifted his right leg up and around his lover's waist as well, ignoring the twinge. The brawn dug his heels into the small of Warren's back to press him closer, deeper.

_Wouldn't you love somebody to love?_

The two men made noises of discomfort and pleasure. Complying, the pyro sat back on his heels, gently pulling Will's hips back into his lap; easing the pain in his thigh and effectively impaling him completely.

_You better find somebody to love!_

The sniper felt the muscles in his lover's back tense against his thighs. His eyes wandered brazenly over the taut, field-hardened plains of his Sergeant's chest. There was not a more beautiful sight.

_Tears are running,_

_They're all running down your dress!_

Beautiful from his tender, pink scars to the pale, faded scars. Beautiful from the flushed redness of his face to the flushed redness of his steel and silk cock. And he gave a less gentle, experimental thrust.

Quivering, Will forced out a harsh breath. He thrust again. And again. The man wasn't breathing.

_And your friends, baby,_

_They treat you like a guest!_

Settling a comforting hand over his lover's chest, Warren grunted, "Breathe, Stronghold. You're not listening to me." Groaning, the brawn fisted the bedclothes over his head, "I'll breathe all you want! Just do that again!"

_Don't you want somebody to love?_

Needing no further orders, the sniper pulled almost out and plunged back in. At the gratifying cry of pleasure, he continued. He set for the two of them an almost brutal pace. His large hands grasped the Sergeant's hips, pulling him into each hard thrust.

"Please!"

_Don't you need somebody to love?_

With the tight passage, the begging and holding back for so long, Warren realized in dismay that he was not going to last. That seemed to be no problem to his lover who grew taut as a bowstring a cry catching up in his throat.

Hot ribbons of seed spilled over his hand and belly as he came. He pulled and tugged for all he was worth, milking himself to the point of utter torture.

_Wouldn't you love somebody to love?_

The sniper sped his pace to a standstill, and he groaned, his spine bowing downward as he fell over the edge, feeling his lover's insides flutter and throb around him. "Fuck…" He ground out as the last wave crashed over him. The pure, exhausted, uninterrupted moments that followed were absolute bliss. Blindly, Will reached for and found Warren's head and threaded his fingers through his hair.

"Oh God, Warren." He breathed.

_You'd better find somebody to love…_


	3. Don't Go

**Guess what I did instead of my Shakespeare paper?**

**Last chapter.**

**Doodley doo, enjoy. **

* * *

Warren's elbow was throbbing like hell with the extent he'd pushed the joint to. He grunted in frustration, letting them limb fall. In defeat, he passed his lighter to his right hand to light one of the well-endowed "J's" that the hippies at the airport had given him. Once it was lit, he tossed the lighter on the nightstand.

Plopping back into the disarray of sheets and pillows, he took a long toke and held it in. After a few seconds he turned his head to look at his bedmate.

Will was lying on his side, propped up slightly on a pillow and sipping a beer. His skin sheened with drying sweat and those ocean blue eyes were sleepily watching the pyro.

Warren shifted, touching the Sergeant's cheek as he leaned in to seal his lips over his. The smaller man twitched slightly, but allowed the Private to exhale the smoke into his mouth. He breathed in slowly, taking what he was given.

Sure, he'd seen Layla and her parents smoke weed, as well as plenty of their friends back in high school. He was familiar with the scent and the basics of it. But he'd never done it before in his life.

Over the past year, he'd found himself doing all kinds of things he'd never done before with the sniper.

Warren leaned back, and took a sip from Will's can, watching him as he held it in for a second and burst into a fit of coughing. The damned Private smiled gently, comfortingly stroking Will's thigh with his left hand. It was all the limb could do at the moment.

Once Will had quieted again, the pyro asked, "You okay?"

The Sergeant swallowed hard, took a long pull off of his beer and chuckled, "Yeah."

Warren smiled, and leaned in just to kiss him this time. It was slow and tender, like he knew his lover deserved. Especially after the stress he'd just pushed the man's body to.

"How are you really? Tell me the truth." He said, taking a modest hit this time, opting not to shotgun it down the brawn's throat this time. Will closed his eyes for a moment, took in a deep breath and sighed.

"Honestly? Kinda sore." He answered, tossing the rest of the beer back.

Nodding, Warren dragged his left arm up to card his fingers back through the Sergeant's hair. "It hurts the most your first time. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I wanted to do it," Will smiled, carefully leaning over to put the can on the nightstand. He settled down to rest against his lover's side, "I wanted to do it with you."

The pyro frowned slightly, looking down at the man, "You didn't do this just for me, did you?"

Will frowned back, "What do you mean?"

"Did you really want to do it because _you_ wanted to do it? Or just because it would impress me or something?"

The brawn snorted, and spoke honestly, "Both! I wanted to please you. And I mean, let's face it…it's only so long a guy can live on a few frantic hand jobs in a broom closet!" Warren snorted back at him, looking up at the ceiling and muttering before he took another toke, "We never did it in a broom closet."

"No. But I am glad we did it. I _did_ want to. I mean…I didn't expect it to hurt like it did…but it did feel good." Will took the joint from between Warren's fingers and ignored the dramatic, affronted look he got. He tentatively took a hit, and coughed it back out, a little less harshly this time. "In fact, it felt pretty damn good right at the end."

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Warren chuckled, knowing that despite being outspoken and friendly, the man was bashful when it came to talking about this sort of thing. 'Too much of a gentleman' the boys used to call him teasingly.

The telltale blush crept across the brawn's face as the pyro knew it would. To stave off speaking, Will took another modest toke.

"Have you ever done it? Like I…well, you know." He asked after, handing the joint back.

"Have I ever taken it? No." And then the Private added as a matter-of-factly, "Well, once."

Starting, Will propped himself up on an elbow, "_Really_?"

Warren outright tittered at his lover's shock. Maybe it was the ganja kicking in a bit, but it did look funny. Adorable more like.

"Yeah. Sort of. I was fifteen." The sniper rubbed at the crease in his brow, smirking, trying to remember that night. "It was at a party I crashed. I didn't really get along with anyone I went to school on the Reservation with, but I stopped by because I didn't have anything fucking better to do."

Will snorted, "You? Not getting along with other people? No!"

Warren gave the brawn a light cuff on the side of the head and continued, "Anyways, I showed up, got drunk, and started going at it with this girl from the Senior class in a bedroom upstairs. Then her fucking boyfriend busts in the door."

He paused and took another hit while Will's eyes widened, "Christ! What did you do?"

The pyro placed a hand over his eyes and laughed out smoke, "I'm there on the bed, balls-deep in this chick and I look at him and go 'Care to join us?'"

Will pressed his face into the curve of the Private's throat, and laughing. "You're a fucking idiot!" He took the roach from Warren and shook his head, taking another hit. "He must've tried to take your head off."

"You'd think so! But after I said that, he shut the door and started ripping off his clothes!"

Laughter and smoke filled the room as the two lay there, shaking in hilarity.

"I remember him climbing up behind me, and he just started digging his fingers into me with lotion or something. Like I said, I was drunk, so I didn't think it'd be a bad idea. Anyways, she's moaning, I'm sweating, there are legs and hands everywhere. Then he finds that spot, you know, the one that feels _really_ damn good?"

Will nodded, having just learned about the existence of that spot _very_ well.

"So, I tell him to just fucking put it in already. He's telling me 'no, no, you're not ready yet'…which now that I think about it, was a pretty nice gesture. I heard that he turned out to be a fag and just had a girlfriend to keep it a secret." The sniper puzzled at the ceiling for a long moment before shrugging and taking another hit. "She's telling me to go harder; he's telling me to relax. It was a fucking mess."

The brawn smiled, "What did you do?"

"He probably got one inch in me, she started coming, and I blew my load." Warren chuckled. "She fell asleep, I told him to fuck off, pulled up my pants and then stumbled home. Poor guy."

Will shook his head, "Wow."

"Yeah, I know. I'm a jerk." The Private chuckled, dropping what was left of the doobie in the ashtray on the nightstand. The Sergeant laid his head on the sniper's shoulder, "No-oot completely."

"Yeah…you know, you made me a better man, Stronghold."

Cocking an eyebrow, Will scoffed, "You're stoned."

"_Yep_." He shifted out from under the brawn, and climbed on top of him.

The Sergeant grasped his lover's powerful thighs and shook his head, "War, I don't think I could t-take it again…not yet."

The pyro chuckled, stroking his thumb up and down the underside of the brawn's cock. It twitched with interest, and slowly began to fill out. "Don't worry, Stronghold. I'm so high right now, I don't have the coordinate…coordination. So, you'll just have to make due."

His large hand wrapped around the both of them and proceeded to stroke.

Will had thought that things couldn't much more new between the two of them. But this was indeed different. Having the Private's cock flush up against his was…it was warm, and soft, but yet so hard and resilient. It felt amazing. It felt even more amazing when Warren thrust his hips against his. The friction was hot and almost hurt, but still the brawn moaned for more.

However, it was perhaps five long minutes of sluggish pulls and thrusts, sloppy kisses and fits of giggles later that the two men collapsed side by side.

"Ohh, fuck me, I'm too stoned to even get off." Warren laughed weakly, holding his stomach. Will covered his face with his hands, and snickered as the pyro pulled him close. "Sorry, Stronghold," He chuckled, "I'll just have to fuck you or something in the morning."

Snorting, the Sergeant reached down to adjust himself, "_Groovy_."

"Oh, don't start that shit."

* * *

The alarm was going off. The sun peaked through the blinds. The room smelled of beer, marijuana and the musk of sex. Will found himself waking up in a tangle of limbs and bed sheets. Blindly he reached for the source of the alarm clock on the bedside table and slapped the snooze button, habitually turning off the switch.

He cracked open his eyes and grimaced at the light, and the slight soreness in his scars. His hands felt completely numb, and he felt over-warm. It took him a moment to come to the realization that he was lying atop Warren's back. His left hand had been hanging off of the bed beside the pyro's and the other was tucked under his chest.

The brawn carefully pulled his hand out from under his slumbering lover and jumped to see that he'd drooled all over the man's shoulder. Swearing quietly, he grabbed an edge of the sheet, and gently wiped it off.

"Quit squirming, Will."

With a chuckle, the Sergeant dropped a kiss onto the back of the pyro's neck. "Well, good morning to you to, sunshine."

"It'll be a good morning when I can fucking feel my arm again." Warren groaned, nudging Will off of him. He rolled over, and hugged his left arm to himself. "Never mind, I don't want to feel it anymore…Christ…got any pain poppers left?"

"Yeah, hang on." The brawn slid off the bed and went to his bag. After finding the bottle, he flicked out a pill and brought it back to the pyro. As the pyro took it and washed it down with some leftover, flat beer, the Sergeant studied the sensitive pink flesh around his lover's elbow.

He grasped Warren's left hand and caressed his knuckles over and over with his thumb.

"Whole fucking thing's useless. You know I can't feel anything in my last three fingers? Fucking war…" the pyro grunted, brushing his hair back.

Will leaned down and kissed his knuckles, and then kissed the scarred joint. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't gone back for me. If you had just kept running, you would have been fine."

Warren scoffed, "And then you'd be dead."

The brawn shifted, carefully moving his right knee over the sniper's body so that he straddled him. "I've thanked you for saving my life right?"

The Private pretended to think about it for a minute. In the meantime, his hands idly stroked the edges of his lover's muscled thighs. "Not today, no."

Smiling, Will leaned down and kissed him. The pyro slipped his tongue into his mouth and it just nearly made the brawn melt. A gasp caught up in his throat when Warren bit at his lower lip. A sigh floated out of him when his lips trailed down. His teeth nipped at his throat, and he sucked on the nape of his neck.

The Sergeant whimpered, mouthing at the pyro's shoulder. He cried out when the sniper's hip rocked up into his.

He glanced over at the clock. It was 7:08. The bus would arrive at the station at 8:15. There wasn't much time left to be with him alone. There wasn't much time left to just be with him. They'd only be together on that bus as far Cheyenne, Wyoming. And then they would part ways. Warren would head home to North Dakota, and Will would head home to New Mexico.

The brawn could have just taken a bus straight to Albuquerque and would have saved nearly half a day of traveling. But he'd opted to take the bus with the pyro to his connection station. Neither had said anything about it.

But now, the Sergeant felt a lump rising in his throat. His chest felt tight. He didn't want to part ways. He wanted to stay here in this room. He wanted to stay here with his best friend. He wanted to stay here with his lover.

"Warren…I," Will started, voice breaking, "I want you to," The air in his lungs left him very suddenly when the Private sat up, and pressed him down against the mattress. A shiver went up his spine as the sniper's hands and tongue caressed his skin.

He breathed deeply through Warren's preparations and entry. He moaned in pleasure or hissed in pain when he couldn't help it. His cock was a little easier to accept this time. A little less painful. A little more enjoyable. Even if it felt like his heart was breaking.

* * *

"You'll call me sometime, right?" Will asked as the Private quickly folded up the paper with his address and phone number on it to keep it from getting wet in the rain.

"Yeah, I will." Warren answered quietly, brushing wet locks of his hair away from his face. "You sure you're gonna be okay waiting here by yourself for another four hours?"

They'd arrived in this ass crack of a bus station in Wyoming at one in the morning. It was now 5am. The sniper's bus was getting ready to load up its passengers to head North. The brawn's bus wouldn't head South until nine.

Weakly, the Sergeant smiled, "Yeah, I'll be fine." _Don't go…_

Behind them they heard the bus engine start up. Warren glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking. And then he turned back to Will.

He'd been trying to subtly wipe at his eyes when he hadn't been looking. But he'd been caught. His sad, ocean blue eyes moved immediately to the wet, filthy ground. The pyro listened to the shuddering breath the brawn took.

He thought longingly to the morning before. All the love they'd made. All of the comfortable talking. The uninhibited touches. He thought about the years they'd spent in the 'Nam together. He thought about the first time he'd saw him, and how much he'd hated him.

But he could never hate him now.

Stepping into Will's space, Warren cupped his face and kissed him. Their lips moved with one another like they never had before. Their movements were slow, and desperate. The pyro's cheeks felt wet with the rain and his lover's tears. It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down. So, he embraced the brawn, holding his body tightly against his.

The Sergeant closed his eyes and let himself feel the Private's warmth. He breathed in deep his scent. He wanted to remember everything about him. He didn't know when…or if…he'd ever see him again. He pressed his face into sniper's shoulder, choking back a sob.

He stroked a hand up and down Will's spine as long as he could before he murmured, "I gotta go."

_Don't go._ "Alright." Will said, stepping back, wiping at his eyes.

"I'll see you." Warren said, walking backwards with his rucksack over his shoulder.

"Yeah." Will bit the inside of his cheek. _Please don't go…_

He watched him climb onto the bus. It closed its doors behind him, and waited a moment while he found a seat in the back. And then it was moving. Driving away. In the dark, Will thought he saw Warren turn and look back. So he raised a hand, waving goodbye from where he stood in the light of the station.

He waited for something to change. He waited for the bus to screech to a stop. He waited to see the pyro jumping out to come back to him. But it didn't. The bus kept on driving up that road until Will couldn't see it anymore.

With that he went and plopped down on the bench that they'd sat on for four hours together. His hand pressed into the wood beside him, wishing he was there. He wished he could feel the warmth of his thigh pressed against his. He looked down at his shoes as the rain drops dripped from the awning onto his toes.

He leaned forward, pressing his face into his hands to cry. _Don't leave me behind…_


End file.
